


You Don't Want A Nice Man

by Shekiyah



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27046915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shekiyah/pseuds/Shekiyah
Summary: The drugs, the alcohol, the places; they were all a blur of long nights of laughter and Michael's warm hands roaming your body. You hadn't cared where he took you, or the dresses he brought you before dinner -- always  wrapped neatly in a box with a bow tied around it, under the crook of his arm -- his warm smile that cleared away the cobwebs of the passive brooding look he always seemed to have.You thought it meant something. Obviously you were wrong. No matter, it was time to move on.
Relationships: Michael Gray/Reader
Kudos: 16





	You Don't Want A Nice Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a prompt. It was too hard not to make an entire fic. She sent: could i request some Michael angst with “Don't you ever do that again” and “Are you hurt?” “No.” “Then why are there bruises all over your face?” love u. I hope this makes you bark. I’m not sorry. Not one bit.

"Stop being so childish about this," he scoffed. 

Your fork that had been pushing your food around your plate during the entire conversation froze as your head shot up to look at the man in front of you. 

"You don't want a scene, Michael?" You dangerously chirped.

His blue eyes were cold and steady as his jaw ticked. You smirked as his eyes widened for a split second. The tables around you hushed and other guests glanced furtively in your direction. You dropped your fork onto your half-eaten plate with a loud  _ clang. _

"You expected me to be docile," you sneered as you pushed back from the table, "that you could take me to a nice dinner and tell me--"

"(Y/N)--"

" _ I don't want anything serious--"  _ you mocked his voice.

"(Y/N), darling--"

"And I'd fold like a deck of cards. Like I'd be happy being with the decadence of the snow and the nights out--"

"Hush your voice," he demanded as he glared at you and threw his napkin onto the table. "You're making a scene."

"You're telling me I'm just a good time  _ for now _ and not worthy enough to date the great Michael Gray," you pouted angrily as you crossed your arms. 

You seethed and shook with anger.  _ A child _ . He sighed and ran his tongue along his teeth. 

"Look," he said as he leaned forward and stretched his hand out, gesturing for your hand. When you didn't move, he sat back up in his chair. 

"We're young," his jaw worked as if he chewed on his words, "I'd hate to tie you down with false promises of a ring if all we're doing is a bit of fun."

"A bit of fun," you hissed as your eyebrows shot up and your mouth went slack. "You've no problem  _ tying me down _ the past month."

"(Y/N)," he sighed again as he rolled his eyes.

"No," you stood and gathered your things, refusing to meet his eyes. "I'd hate to tie you down with this dinner. Goodnight, Michael."

You quickly walked away, clutching your purse to you as you walked to the front and asked the host to call you a car. The host dipped his head and murmured his platitudes before he left to the back to make the call. 

You shuffled in place, fighting yourself if you should look behind you or not. Curiosity got the better of you and you quickly looked up at the table you left to see Michael watching you intently. His elbow rested on the table, a lit cigarette held between his fingers as he stared you down. Smoke lazily left his lips to be inhaled through his nose. 

He had a way of looking down on people, on making them feel small. He was looking at you like that now. Like you were no longer worth his time. You shivered. 

"Ma'am," the host said as he touched your elbow. "There is a car for you outside, let me walk you."

"Thank you, sir," you answered softly, allowing him to turn you toward the door and lead you away. 

\----

It had been nearly two weeks since the dinner and you had hidden yourself away, refusing to go out in fear of seeing him. 

You had met in your favorite club, and although London wasn't small, you had your favorites and he knew almost all of them. The few weeks you had seen each other had been filled with you showing him your favorite hidden gems, and Michael taking you to places he thought would astound you. His every choice was more extravagant than the next. 

The drugs, the alcohol, the places; they were all a blur of long nights of laughter and Michael's warm hands roaming your body. You hadn't cared where he took you, or the dresses he brought you before dinner -- always wrapped neatly in a box with a bow tied around it, under the crook of his arm -- his warm smile that cleared away the cobwebs of the passive brooding look he always seemed to have. 

_ You thought it meant something. Obviously you were wrong. No matter, it was time to move on. _

There was a man who had been interested in you for ages but you had always smiled and brushed off. He was nice enough but you were always more interested in someone else. You finally agreed to have dinner and drinks with him tonight. 

Henry was everything Michael was not. When Michael was quiet, Henry was loud. Michael was a businessman that enjoyed nice places. Henry was a worker with rough hands that snagged your dress when he guided you through your favorite club to your seat at an empty table. 

"Nice place," Henry yelled as his dark eyes bounced around the loud room and all its inhabitants. 

He took a chair and moved it beside yours as he dropped into it beside you like a bag of potatoes, his big arm circling your chair as he leaned in to talk over the music. 

"What can I get you darlin'?" He asked. "Gin?"

"Whiskey, neat," you smiled as his eyes widened. 

"Yes ma'am," he whistled before he waved a waitress over. 

Talking with Henry was easy. There were no games and the conversations were always very plain. You could breathe without feeling like one move would give him the upper hand. It was nice but not exactly thrilling. 

He was a comfort, a relaxing night reading a book by a fireplace. Michael was a roaring bonfire in the pitch black, the way his eyes flickered through the calm expression masked on his face, only revealing the tics of real emotion he felt as the mask slipped. He still haunted you. You still wanted him.

After a few drinks, you relaxed. Henry leaned you into his side as you both watched the stage as the band roared a tune. You felt restless, sitting as the room grew raucous, so you twisted and grabbed his arm that rested around your back. 

"Dance with me," you laughed and pulled him to his feet as he protested. 

You pouted and he relented, both going into the middle of the dance floor. The room felt hot as you both danced together in the pit of bodies writhing to the music. Your laugh carried as you pressed against him, his rough hands along your hips. You continued through two, three, four songs. 

The band finally relented and played a slower tune. Henry pulled you close as he panted, sweat appearing along his temple from trying to keep up. 

"Excuse me," a deep voice broke your trance. "May I cut in?"

Your head shot up to see Michael, his uncalloused hand reaching for your elbow, a smirk on his face. Henry's face was twisted into a scowl as he looked at the pin-stripe suit beside him. Your face slacked in surprise. 

"We're in the middle of a date, pal," Henry protested, smacking Michael's hand out of the air before he could touch you. 

"What does (Y/N) have to say?" Michael said as he looked at you, completely ignoring Henry. 

"Do you know this guy, (Y/N)?" Henry asked as his eyes danced between you both. 

You pressed your lips together, frozen in place between these two men in the middle of the dance floor. Henry's face was confusion and anger, sputtering and growing red on his ears and neck. Michael was perfectly collected, his gaze on you steady as if he already knew your answer but required you to say it so Henry would know, too. Amusement glimmered in his eyes as your breath caught in your throat. 

"Henry, give us a minute alone, yeah?" You said, a tight smile spreading across your face as you looked between the men. "Get me a drink and I'll be right over."

Both men froze at your words, confusion etched across their brows before Michael's face returned to a smirk and he reached out for you again, gently prying you from Henry's grip. You let him swing you away from your date, his hands placed firmer than Henry's on your back, but your dress not catching under his grip. His other hand laced his fingers with yours and he pulled you in as your date stomped toward the bar, his face red with embarrassment and anger. 

"You looked bored," Michael said flatly as he looked through you to the other dancers. "Thought I could interject."

"Henry is a perfectly nice man," you spat. 

"But you don't want a nice man."

Your eyes widened at his candor as he looked coolly at you. It wasn't a suggestion or a question. You opened your mouth to object but only choked on the air.

"You were angry at dinner," he said as his grip tightened on your waist and his eyes wandered away again. "I'll forgive the scene this once."

You tensed as if he slapped you as his words ran you cold. 

"Excuse me?" You said through gritted teeth. 

"You're forgiven this once," he said as he spun you before he pulled you close again. "I don't like scenes."

His hand let go of yours and found your face, his thumb rubbing your cheek idly before his fingers squeezed the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss. You were pliant, shock and adrenaline coursing through you.  _ And lust _ . His tongue easily parted your lips and you were dazed; the softest moan echoed into his mouth. 

He pulled back and chuckled darkly as he kept his forehead to yours, one eyebrow cocked as the pad of his thumb pressed against your lips. 

"THAT'S MY DATE" Henry roared as he pushed through the dancefloor with his arm cranked back. 

Henry pushed you away roughly and slammed his fist into Michael's face. You screamed and stumbled back a few steps and the men hit the ground together. The crowd swallowed you as they circled the fight, pushing you away as both men yelled over the music. You hit a table and fell backward onto the floor as more people rushed forward. You scrambled onto your feet, hand to your mouth, and ran to the bathrooms. 

Fear jolted your body as you slammed the bathroom door behind you and sat on the floor as your heart raced. You didn't know what to do or what was even happening. You cradled your head in your hands and brought your knees up, pressing your forehead into them as you erupted into tears at the violence you just witnessed. Henry's brutality absolutely rocked you. You feared him, and  _ for him _ . You had never seen Michael angry, but something in your gut told you that you never wanted to. 

_ You couldn't trust either of these men _ , you realized immediately.  _ You had to get away. _

You clambered to your feet and tried to take a breath to pull yourself together. You looked yourself over in the mirror and expertly cleared the tears from your face without disrupting your makeup before you pulled at the door and walked back outside. 

The music had stopped and the room was loud with people talking over each other as you ran for the door. You refused to look, afraid to catch the eye of either men. Instead, you took the nearest available car outside of the club and asked the driver to take you to a little hole-in-the-wall bar neither knew about in hopes a drink and a calm atmosphere would hide you away long enough to calm your nerves. 

\----

A few hours later, and late into the night, you decided to finally make your way home. When you walked through your door, you froze when a shadow loomed larger than usual near the dining room table. You sighed as you realized who it was.

**“Are you hurt?”** you bit your lip as you shut the door and watched him lean forward in the chair from the dark shadows in the dining area.

**“No.”**

He placed a cigarette between his lips and struck a match. The flame illuminated the cuts and bruises along his face as the cherry glowed and he inhaled the tobacco. 

**"Then why are there bruises all over your face?”**

Michael's eyes roamed freely down your silhouette as he exhaled.

"Your friend Henry packed a punch," he said as he stood from the shadow and walked toward you in his rumpled suit. "But I won in the end."

Your eyebrow raised. 

"He's alive," Michael said as he brought the cigarette to his lips for another pull. "I doubt he'll answer your calls."

"Are you going to fight every man that looks at me?" 

You tensed, stamping down the urge to touch his bruised, cut up face. He stepped directly in front of you and your back hit the door behind you. He blew the smoke into your face as he pulled the cigarette away.

"No," he said. "Just the ones that touch you."

He placed a hand near your head on the door and leaned in to you as you stilled under him. 

"You were the one that said it was a bit of fun," your voice wavered as you stood in his shadow. You hated yourself a little for it. 

"I did," he brought the cigarette back to his lips and inhaled the smoke, idly watching you tremble in the silence as you waited. "I said I wasn't ready to tie down, not that you could date other men."

The edge in his tone sent you to shivers but the anger that bubbled in your chest won out. 

"If I'm not tied down you have no say, Mr. Gray," you challenged as you raised your chin in defiance. 

He left the cigarette in the corner of his mouth as his free hand rested firmly on your collar bone. His fingers traced it before he lightly squeezed the base of your throat. He leaned closer, softly rubbing his nose on yours.

"Mister," he rumbled. "I like that."

He pushed off of the wall and pulled the cigarette from his mouth. He dabbed it out on your door as he pressed closer, practically on top of you. The hand on your throat pressed up until he was holding your face, his thumb pushing your lips apart. His blue eyes danced between his thumb on your lips and your wide eyes. 

"Your heart is pounding," he growled. "But not from fear. You want to be a good girl. I can feel it."

You let out the smallest squeak as he brushed his lips across yours and traced his tongue along your bottom lip.  _ He was right. God, was he right. _

**“Don't you ever do that again.”**


End file.
